


One Foot in Front of the Other

by DevinBourdain



Series: Manifest Destinies [8]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Affairs, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Western, Character Death, Cheating, Child Death, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Drama, Guns, Heartbreak, Illnesses, Patricide, Suicidal Thoughts, Terminal Illnesses, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 02:23:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12447668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevinBourdain/pseuds/DevinBourdain
Summary: Some of the defining moments of McCoy's life that lead him to joining outlaw Jim Kirk. Character origin story for Western Enterprises Series. Western AU.McCoy's weathered many tragedies but the storm keeps raging and the horizon is looking impossibly dark.He hasn't been able to shake the numbness that's set in. He's ravaged by grief too and can't bring himself to blame his mother for her hatred. He can't look himself in the mirror, let alone forcing anyone else to look at him. He thought words from her would bring relief but they've just made the chasm in his heart larger. There's no one to make things better for, he only has his own two hands to fix things and he's seen what his hands are capable of.





	One Foot in Front of the Other

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters are not mine, just borrowed for this story.  
> Warnings: language and violence and references to sex and death of a child  
> Reviews are always welcome and appreciated

The music drifts softly though the house like the gentle flame of the flickering candles lighting the whole affair. All the who's who of high society in Atlanta are in attendance, dancing and making polite conversation in their best clothing. The well timed polite giggles of fine ladies mixes with the brandy and cigar smoke of gentlemen making future business connections. It's one big power grab that leaves Leonard feeling like a piece of property, used to the betterment of everyone else with little regard for the wear and tear on his soul.

Leonard heaves a sigh and drinks back the last dredges of brandy in his glass before placing it on the fine linen table cloth and makes his way to the balcony. The stars twinkle above making him feel as small and unimportant as the party does. He's glad to be back home with family but all the ado about his return is a little much. These people aren't here because they missed him, hell, most probably don't know his first name just that he's the only child of David McCoy: the city's top doctor, and future heir to the McCoy fortune.

He rests his hands on the balcony railing, taking in a deep breath. He'd missed the smell of Georgia in the summer and the sight of lightening bugs floating around the hedges of the garden. New York had been a whirl wind experience full of culture, people and most importantly the cutting edge of medical techniques. For the first time in his life, Leonard had been free to do as he pleased. There was no pressure to put on a suit and make pleasant small talk with the town gossips. More importantly, there hadn't been any high society mothers trying to force him to dance with their daughters. His best friend, Clay Treadway, is graciously falling on his sword for Leonard by offering to take his turn with Atlanta's most eligible on the dance floor. While on the outside the act has all the appearance of being altruistic, Clay never turns down an opportunity to gain footholds on the social ladder. As much as it benefits Leonard, he knows Clay's motives were rooted in self-service. It's probably what makes their friendship work, Clay soaking up all the extra attention Leonard leaves on the table as he shies away from hollow high society interactions; the perfect ying to Leonard's yang.

"Hiding?" asks a voice from behind Leonard.

He tenses for a moment, believing that his momentary escape has been thwarted until something clicks in his memory. He turns around, a coy smile playing on his lips as he takes in the familiar face. "Jocelyn."

She steps out from the shadows to stand next to Leonard, appearing with an air of timeless beauty shrouding her in her stunning dress. There's a companionable silence as they both stare out into the garden, their shoulders pressed together. It's familiar, old friend's reconnecting with miles of history together, mostly forged as children playing while their families plotted and schemed about the vast empires they would leave their children. The last time he had seen Jocelyn she had been a young little thing on the cusp of womanhood; it appears he wasn't the only to grow up during his time away in New York. For a moment he doesn't feel like he's completely alone in a crowd of people.

"It's poor form for the honoree of this little soiree to be making himself scarce. Everyone's come to see you, the conquering hero returning from New York after studying medicine with the world's elite. You're going to make someone here a fine husband after you take over your father's practice and his fortune," she teases, knowing full well how he shies away from being the center of half hearted attention. If she's honest with herself, she's glad he's taken a moment from the throngs of people to seek out a quiet corner. Her childhood crush has bloomed into dashing young man. While the prospect of Leonard being a potential suitor growing up hadn't crossed her mind, it's definitely stirring something in her now.

Leonard lets his head hang, a pressure headache bringing to form. He doesn't share the grace she does with social events like this. Jocelyn is everything any well-to-do could dream of; social grace, keen intellect, savvy sense of politics all wrapped in one coveted package, while he bumbles and fumbles his way through pretending to aspire to being anything more than a simple country doctor. "It would be nice if people in this town didn't have my whole life planned out for me without even consulting me." It's a familiar pressure, not just placed on him by society, but his parents as well. It was preordained that he would follow in his father's footsteps and practice medicine and maintain the family keen sense of business dealings like the men on his mother's side of the family. While he had no interest in politics and the business of running the family plantations he did enjoy medicine and so had no major objection to catering to his family's whims on such matters. It's everything that comes after that that makes the world feel like it's pressing down on him. Hopefully this pressure renders him a diamond in the rough, rather than a piece of coal whose single purpose is to fuel the machine of life.

Her hand creeps slowly across the railing until it rests upon his. "If anyone is destined to pull it off, it would be you," she whispers. "I see huge things for you, Leonard. A great man should strive for nothing less." She speaks as though she's seen the future and knows for certain all the things Leonard can only hope for. She knows _his_ future all too well, the expectation and demand, and she kind of hopes that she might have a place in that future.

* * *

Leonard's hands tremble slightly as he struggles to put his cufflink in place; steadfast during surgery, they seem unequal to the task before him now. The butterflies in his stomach started early that morning and refused to give it a rest, rendering him an uncharacteristic ball of nerves. He finally settles down as he sees Jocelyn enter the church, striking in her white dress that had taken over a month to make. One look at her and his heart beats true and steady, the tremble in his hands gone and the feeling of certainty that he had four months ago when he asked for her hand in marriage is back. If this is love, than surely cupid has granted him wings.

The ceremony and ride back to his parents' grand house is a blur captured in her beautiful green eyes and never ending smile. The details of the day are lost. He knows everyone they know has stopped by to wish them well, partake in the party to celebrate their union and lay the ground work for favor with the new Mrs. Leonard McCoy, but all he can recall is how deep her eyes saw into his soul when she said 'I do.'

Leonard finds himself on the balcony outside the party, nostalgic for its company and cherished memory of reconnecting with Jocelyn a year earlier. The pressure of the world had seemed so great then but now with Jocelyn by his side, he feels he might be able to shoulder it. He works alongside his father and as luck would have it, was able to purchase a beautiful home not far from his parents' place to start building a beautiful family with his beautiful wife.

David walks out on to the balcony, the picture of refined regal dignity that Leonard can only aspire to when he gets older. He would never say his father was cold, but winning the man's approval has always been difficult. In all fairness, the man never held anyone to a standard he didn't hold himself.

Leonard gives his father a warm smile but never takes his eyes off Jocelyn as she makes small talk with the various groups of people scattered around the vast parlor. This moment is perfect, filling him with contentment that can't be rivaled by any other experience he's known.

David claps a firm steady hand on his son's shoulder. "Proud of you, boy. You done the McCoy name proud." His voice breaks a little on the words as a tear of joy gathers at the corner of his eye. It's the culmination of eighteen years of work; he's watched something that started out so small and fragile grow beyond his imagination. Leonard has made himself worthy of not only the name but all the effort and experience his parents have put into him.

"Thanks, Pa," says Leonard, a warm feeling sweeping over him. His father's validation means as much to him as Jocelyn's acceptance of his proposal. He feels like he can take on the world and win. The future is wide and bright; full of possibility.

* * *

Leonard thought he knew happiness. His first brush with it was when his mother kissed him good bye at the train station before he left for New York. He thought he knew it again when his father shook his hand upon his return and offered him a key to his office. Marrying Jocelyn has been the top of his list for the last two years, but it all pales in comparison to this moment right now.

He's handled his fair share of babies, helped bring a few into the world, even, but none were as precious as the small bundle in his arms right now. She's perfect, from her cute little nose all the way to her toes. He smoothes down the shock of black hair as he rocks her back and forth. Exhausted Jocelyn fell asleep some time ago but Leonard can't bring himself to put his little girl down let alone close his eyes. He's almost terrified that if he goes to sleep, he'll learn she was just a dream. Three hours old and already he can't imagine his life without her.

"Hello there, Joanna. My little hummin' bird," he coos. His heart swells with pride.

The future before him is equal parts joyful and terrifying. He sees his little girl in her first party dress, the day she starts talking about boys, her wedding day when he has to entrust his precious baby to someone else. There are so many steps between then and now, he's afraid he'll screw it up somehow. There's so much more at stake now if he stumbles. He makes a silent promise to his bundle of joy, to do right by her and make sure she sees all the happiness he's envisioned for her.

* * *

"I can't do it Pa," whispers Leonard, in a voice so broken and pitiful he can't even recognize it. There's a burning lump in his throat that won't go away and a tightness in his chest making it hard to breathe. He understands where his father is coming from. He's seen men ravaged by this disease before and knows exactly what further degradation awaits his once proud father. He simply can't bear the thought.

"I ain't asking ya, I'm tellin ya boy," states David firmly, trying to hide his true feelings under a mask of authority. "Load that pistol, cock the trigger and put that gun in my hand." They both know what the coming days will bring, the suffering to not only David but the rest of the family. It's a gash in both their souls that neither one is skilled enough to repair.

Leonard was raised to be a good boy, respect his elders, mind his manners and keep the faith. As a doctor he knows the oath he swore to do no harm. What his father is asking goes against most of what he was taught. His oath prevents it, god forbids it and his heart can't bear to do it, but one look from David and the ghost of the man he used to be and longs to remain, has Leonard on his feet and heading for the dresser.

He knows if his father had the strength to lift his arms, let alone move his body anymore, he would be doing this without any witnesses, but now out of desperation he's begging his son to aid his quest; David McCoy has never begged anyone for anything in his whole life. He lifts the gun out of the drawer and checks the chamber; it already has a bullet ready. The cold steel leaves an icy tremor running through him as he returns to his father's bedside. Every fiber of his being wants to chuck the god-awful thing out the window but his hand disobeys his heart's commands and places it in his father's gnarled hand.

The silence is suffocating. He longs for the days when he was a young boy and he could run to his parents' bedroom and demand they protect him from the raging storm outside. His father can't protect him anymore; the man can't even protect himself. It falls to Leonard now to make the hard choices, to be the protector against all the ills of the world, to use everything David and Eleanor taught him, to make the world and hopefully himself better. They didn't teach him how to navigate this, doesn't know how his father manages to be the hero on the front lines with no one guiding him. Selfishly he wants to hide behind his father's shield for the rest of his days. The moment stretches out and Leonard almost believes his father has reconsidered his solution.

"I can't do it."

Leonard breathes a sigh of relief.

"I can't lift my arm."

Leonard's heart sinks. The gun is his father's last resort of saving what remaining tatters of dignity he has left and his body is too far gone to even allow him something as simple as sliding his arm up the bed to rest near his head.

"You're going to have to do it, son." There's a pleading in David's eyes that Leonard cannot ignore.

Carefully with a gentleness he reserves for Joanna, he warps his hand around his father's and lifts his arm to rest on the pillow by his head. Part of him wants to leave the room, to claim his duty done and leave his father to his own nasty business, but he knows David can't do this on his own. Even if he summons the strength to pull the trigger, and he's not talking about the man's will power, there's a chance his hand might spasm and shake sending the bullet off course. If this is going to happen, Leonard's going to make damn sure it's as quick and painless as possible. They both don't need to suffer needlessly.

"Thank you. You're a good boy, Leonard," whispers David, sincere and grateful.

Leonard can only nod; anything else will leave him a sobbing wreck. He doesn't feel good about his father's praise this time. His absolution of the pending crime isn't enough to keep the very fragile pieces of Leonard's heart together. He wiggles his finger behind the trigger guard and over his father's, watches as his father closes his eyes and peace washes over him. Leonard turns his head and closes his eyes, pressure steadily building in his index finger. The sharp bang of the gun causes him to flinch, sending tears rolling down his cheeks.

Eternity plays out, silent and accusatory in the wake of such violent and decisive noise. Leonard can't remember how to breathe, and is not sure he wants to. There's another bullet in the gun and it's the only antidote to the way he's feeling. He thinks about it for a moment, just one moment before Joanna floats into his mind. No matter what hell shackles he's placed upon himself he can't leave his baby alone in this world. His penance shouldn't be her burden to carry.

The frantic thudding of someone running up the stairs spurs Leonard into action. He pulls the bed sheet over his father's head just as his mother burst through the bedroom door. She doesn't need to see the bright red blood staining the pillow and sheets. He can't spare her the heartache but he can mitigate the damage.

It doesn't take a genius to put the situation together. David is dead, Leonard is broken and the gun is lying accusingly on the floor. David had been talking about it for days but Eleanor knew he lacked the strength to do it. She failed to take in account David's strength to spur their son to action.

"What have you done Leonard?" Eleanor screams, all accusation.

Leonard slumps further in his chair like a used punching bag. He knows the weight of what he's done but all he feels is numb. "What Pa asked me," he mumbles. It's not an excuse but it is what drove his motivation. There was nothing malicious in his actions, if anything he wants, no needs, his mother to know that. How could he deny his hero anything?

"It's a sin you know. One that God won't forgive," she lectures. She begged David to stop talking about it. It was bad enough she was losing the love of her life, she was furious that he would try and deprive them of the few days they had left. Leonard knew her wishes on the matter and still she's alone in the world. She's hurt and angry and her son has had a hand in taking David away.

"What about honor thy father?" he asks brokenly. He was against a rock and a hard place, of course he lost. He didn't realize how bad he would need someone to understand his predicament until he saw the recrimination on his mother's face.

"Don't sass me boy." She doesn't slap him across the face, but it certainly feels like she did.

He did it for his father, but knows she won't forgive him for taking the love of her life. Even if she could get over it, Eleanor McCoy is deeply in touch with her faith and he's just helped her husband break one of the big rules. Leonard has placed eternity between his parents and let their love story fall to ruin. Her faith won't allow Leonard to be back in her good graces. With one bullet he lost both parents.

The silence that exists in the house following David's passing is excruciating, leaving nothing but the echoes of the gun ringing through Leonard's head. Jocelyn is at home consoling Joanna but he can't bring himself to leave his father's home, to leave his mother more alone than she already is. His attempts to console are ignored and his desperate pleas to be wrapped safely in his mother's arms go unanswered. He's the ghost in the house, forgotten and shunned, the source of malcontent within the McCoy family. He thinks it would be better to have his mother rant and rave and belittle him in her anger at life, anything other than the icy silence freezing him out. At least she would be acknowledging and confirming that he was still alive.

The funeral is small, just immediate family and a few of the hands from the plantation. They aren't even in the family graveyard; suicides not allowed on consecrated ground. It's a fresh stab wound to bury David just outside the rod iron fence enforcing the invisible line between sin and salvation. When this life is over, it will be the gates of heaven that separate David and Eleanor. All of their social friends refused to attend, wanting no part in such unsightly dealings.

There's a black mark on Leonard's soul and he's not sure if he's grateful for Eleanor not using him as a scapegoat to save David's immortal soul or not. Saying Leonard pulled the trigger would save face in front of Atlanta society; Leonard becoming the dirty secret, a man that murdered his father but they would think fondly upon David. It boils down to his life or his father's legacy and right now he feels as though he doesn't have either anyway.

Jocelyn takes Joanna's hand and they walk back towards the house, leaving Leonard alone with Eleanor and the ghost of his father. It's an unbearable void separating them, insurmountable in its vastness. He doesn't have the words to make things better.

"I want you out of this house," states his mother, voice brittle with grief. "I never want to see you again."

Leonard just nods. He hasn't been able to shake the numbness that's set in. He's ravaged by grief too and can't bring himself to blame his mother for her hatred. He can't look himself in the mirror, let alone forcing anyone else to look at him. He thought words from her would bring relief but they've just made the chasm in his heart larger. There's no one to make things better for, he only has his own two hands to fix things and he's seen what his hands are capable of.

She turns to head back to the house but stops after one step. "It's because we're kin that I don't turn you over to the Sheriff for what you've done." There's no accusation in her voice, just cold detachment. "I hope one day you can find salvation, but it won't be here and it won't be from me."

He watches her leave before whispering, "I hope so too." He knows what lies before him, a once bright future tainted dark.

* * *

Leonard tries to go through the motions. He maintains his father's practice and pours himself into medicine when he's not pouring himself a bottle. As much as the gossip mill has had a field day with what they think transpired in the McCoy home, being one of only a few doctors in town means business will never run dry no matter society's opinion of him. He's the hope to the sick and dying and he finds it ironic.

Once a month he heads to the bank after work, requests the bank manager in person. He deposits a couple of dollars in his father's account, an allowance for his mother. He knows she should never have to worry about money but doesn't think she's ever been responsible for the family finances before. It's not much but it should make sure that no matter how poor his mother's money skills may be, she'll not want for anything. David was adamant that the love of his life want for nothing and Leonard's going to make sure that's a promise his father keeps.

He makes a point to stay sober until Joanna goes to bed. She's already upset over the loss of her Grandpa, she doesn't need the burden of life dumped upon that. He'll shield her as best he can so she'll never know what befell her grandfather or know the feel and burden of a gun in her own hands. It takes all of his effort to put on a happy face and listen to her prattle on about all the wonders she sees in the world, leaving little energy for anything more than awkward silences at dinner between himself and Jocelyn. He wishes he could see the world the way his little girl does.

The days all blur together except Sunday when he takes something to stave off his hangover and puts on his church clothes. He sits through service because it's expected. If it was solely up to him he would have stopped going after he buried his father outside the family plot; the prayers have long since turned to ash in his mouth. His own salvation is out of reach, so there's no point in asking.

Eleanor sits two pews ahead, never turning to look at the son she wiped her hands clean of. He's a living ghost watching everyone else continue on with life. After service he trails behind Joanna who's always a whirlwind of excitement, buzzing around like the humming bird she's always reminded him of. He slows down when he reaches the steps of the church. It's the one small mercy Eleanor sees fit to grant him, talking with Joanna, and he keeps his distance so as not to cut his daughter's time with her Grandmother short.

It would break Joanna's little heart in far more pieces than Leonard would ever be able to put together if Eleanor shunned her too. Leonard can't be responsible for breaking his daughter's heart they way he broke his mother's, he couldn't possibly survive it; Joanna is the only reason to get up in the morning and numbly crawl through the day. His mamma even maintains a civil courtship with Jocelyn and it's the most he can hope for his family; a disjointed future where they hover in each other's spheres but never collide. The road ahead seems long and lonely but the hardship is his to bear and he'll do it with all the strength his father ever gave him.

* * *

Leonard spends every night drunk. It dulls the pain that's taken up residence in his heart and earns him nothing more than a disapproving tsk from his wife. It's the only balm he's found to sooth the nightmares that constantly haunt him. He's jolted awake by the gentle whisper of his daughter as she leans close to his ear.

"Daddy, do you like my dress?" She takes a step back from the sofa Leonard's sprawled and twirls around in her pretty pink dress, her smile so bright it eclipses the sun.

Leonard cracks an eye open and watches as candy pink floats and dances in front of him. He sits up gingerly, wincing at the aches and pains of another night spent not in the bed he shares with his wife. His mouth tastes like something died in it and for a brief moment he believes he's the proud parent of twin girls.

"Mamma bought it for me from Smith and Mason," she reports sagely. "It's for the Treadway's party tonight."

Leonard smiles, the same one Joanna's giving him. His little girl is growing up so fast; an old soul that's well beyond her five years. "That's nice hummin' bird. You look very pretty," he assures her. He loves her so much, it hurts; it's the one ache Leonard can live with.

If it's possible she lights up even more. She offers a curtsy and proceeds to dance her way out of the room. Leonard watches her go, feeling a sense of right in the world that something as simple as a bright pinks dress can make someone that happy.

His focus shifts as his daughter disappears out of sight to Jocelyn standing in the doorway. She's causally leaning against the door frame with a look that's some magical combination of cross, disappointed but not entirely surprised. "I assume you're not coming tonight." There's no accusation in the statement, just a well used tone of acceptance for Leonard's short comings.

It takes everything he has to get through the day as it is, he has nothing left for frivolous social gatherings with people who only care for what you can do for them and who you can help them climb social ranks. If Jocelyn feels her husband has abandoned her, she never says anything, just carries on her duty with all the grace she's always had. He can imagine she's long run out of excuses for his absence.

"Ma going to be there?" he asks, letting his head hang. The soothing balm of Joanna is gone and he's feeling the repercussions of his drunken stupor more keenly. He runs a hand through his messy hair which he has no hope of taming.

Jocelyn shrugs one shoulder. "Probably. It's a society party."

"Then no."

Jocelyn leaves the parlor indifferent to her husband's choice to be absent.

* * *

Leonard's not sure what wakes him. He rubs at his eyes trying to dispel the crust that's pulling at his lashes. The telltale kink in his neck speaks to another night passed out in the parlor and the rays of light boldly bargaining through the windows are harsh and unforgiving. It takes his fuzzy brain a moment to figure out what he's looking at; the world is always sideways, both literally and figuratively these days.

The silence is broken by Joanna's harsh cough. Leonard shoots up into a sitting position, the world spinning around him, to get a good look at his daughter kneeling at the table working on a puzzle. She's always been smart, with a mind so quick he can barely keep up. The world's going to bow to her genius. "Are you alright there hummin' bird?" he asks Joanna, his doctor instincts tickling the back of his brain. He takes stock of his daughter. She looks a little tired, pale. He blames it on the late night at the Treadway party and dismisses the gnawing feeling in his gut as his stomach rebelling against the bottle of bourbon he consumed.

Joanna nods getting up on her knees and crawling the distance from the table to the sofa. "I'm fine daddy. The box was just dusty," she assures him. She places a small hand on his forehead and frowns, a look that's such a carbon copy of Leonard, there can be no mistaking who her father is. "You're a little warm though."

He gives her a soft smile, pulling her hand away from his forehead and kissing it gently. His future is bleak except where his daughter is concerned. Hers will be bright and joyous, changing mankind for the better. All the hope he once held for his life, he pours into hers.

* * *

It starts with a few cases, mostly people who are passing through on their way to the open west but soon Rigelian Fever is showing symptoms in people Leonard knows. By the time the town realizes it has a full blown out break, McCoy's supply of Ryetalyn has run dry. The supply shipment that's was due is running late, so late in fact that another shipment has been sent. But if the first shipment has been hijacked en route, the second probably will be too. Ryetalyn is almost worth its weight in gold.

His hands are tied for helping the inflicted in town; the mortality rate is extremely high. He's been so busy at work trying to get ahead of the fever he fails to notice the pattern of those inflicted: all had attended the soiree at the Treadway estate. Working until after Joanna goes to bed, he hasn't seen her symptoms increase until Jocelyn's frantic scream early one morning as she finds Joanna still asleep in bed burning with fever.

He holds his baby girl tight to his chest, anything to feel the shallow breaths she's been reduced to taking. Without the Ryetalyn there's nothing he can do for his daughter but hope. He wraps her tightly in her favorite pink blanket and whispers soft words of encouragement, to hold on, to survive because he isn't ready to let her go. She has a future ahead of her and he can't bear for it to be denied. He tells himself that if anyone can overcome the one hundred percent fatality rate for seniors and children, it's his girl. Despite being respectable, the McCoy's have always been fighters, he knows Joanna has this trait too.

He sits with Joanna through the night, long past the point where he can't feel his arms and legs anymore but he doesn't twitch a muscle or anything that might disturb the precious bundle he refuses to part with. Every cough that rattles her small frame is another knife in his heart. If God hasn't damned him already, he condemns himself. He should have paid more attention, diagnosed Joanna when he still had enough medicine to give her. He faltered in his duty as a doctor, a husband and a father and it's his little girl who's paying the price. His heart is splayed open and only Joanna's little hands have the skill to sew it back together.

Jocelyn alternates between pacing the house and sitting on the other side of the bed, holding Joanna's small hand and glaring daggers at Leonard. He's not interested in arguing blame or failings at the moment, knows instinctively that most lies upon his doorstep but a part of him spares a moment to resent the socialite his wife is and her desperate need to mingle with high society that put his little girl in the epicenter of the outbreak.

Shame burns bright and hot in him, like Joanna's fever, at the thought. Despite the problems that have been forming between himself and his wife, he knows she does her best as far as Joanna's concerned. Joanna always has her own will and opinion on things and even if Leonard had said she couldn't attend the party, Joanna would have crossed her arms and pouted her lip, melting Leonard's heart and causing him to cave into her demand. He desperately prays she'll give into his demand to beat this infliction.

It's twilight the next night when Joanna takes a breath and Leonard's catches in his throat as he waits for the next one. He's tense to the point of shattering but all he can do is count the seconds until her little chest sucks in another raggedy breath. It never comes. A tear, hot and heavy, rolls down his cheek. He knows what's happened but his heart doesn't want to believe his head.

"Hummin' bird," he whispers, his arms wrapping tighter around her. "Come on hummin' bird, I need you to take a breath for me. _Please._ " He's not too proud to beg.

The plea stirs Jocelyn, who's nodded off. She sits up in the bed, eyes darting from Joanna's form to Leonard face looking for some sign he's wrong. Her hand covers her mouth at the gentle shake of Leonard's head. Suddenly, she has to move; she paces the room a few times taking deep breaths before running out of the room completely.

Leonard flinches at the sound of their bedroom door slamming shut. It doesn't take long for the oppressive silence of death to be shattered by the raging sobs of Jocelyn in the next room. He's envious of Jocelyn's emotion, can't summon any himself. He's numb, numb and cold and so lost that he must be alone in the universe. He loses all track of time but somewhere along the line twilight exchanges for dawn and the sobs in the next room have run dry. His world has narrowed to a square of bright pink blanket and a now cold stiffness in his arms.

One of the servants comes into the room, whispers in his ear. None of it makes any sense but he doesn't fight as they gentle extract the body from his arms and lay it gently on the bed. Blindly he gets to his feet and finds himself standing in front of the door to his bedroom. He wants nothing more than to stagger out into the backyard with a shovel, dig a hole and drink until he passes out in it but he has a duty to his wife, his wife who has lost their daughter too. He opens the door and shuffles in, stands there useless and lifeless until Jocelyn notices his presence.

Her grief turns to anger as she flies off the bed. "You're supposed to be a doctor!" she accuses, before slapping him across the face. He takes it without protest or objection. He just wants to feel something, something other than hollow and gutted. She steps closer, uses her fists against his chest to express her anger. "The best, studied in New York. The mighty Doctor McCoy," she continues, her words as sharp as her blows. "What kind of doctor can't even save his own daughter?"

He wraps his arms around her, pulling her in tight. She keeps hitting him until she runs out of energy and her knees buckle bringing them both to the floor in a gentle heap. Her anger turns back to sobs as she desperately clings to him. He doesn't even feel any of it, can't feel anything, just whispers, "It'll all be alright," even though he doesn't believe it.

Joanna needed him and he failed to save her. If there really was a God and he knew anything of mercy, he'd take Leonard and leave his baby alone. It didn't work out that way. Joanna is gone and his future has ended right here.

The Ryetalyn shipment shows up the next day.

* * *

If his father's death had crippled him, Joanna's has completely destroyed him. He takes to the bottle the second he steps in the front door after work. Most days he barely gets out of bed before ten in the morning, but he makes the effort to maintain his practice. He has nothing to live for but he can't bear the thought that he can prevent this from happening to someone else and not using those skills. He'll be a better doctor in the brief moments he can manage sobriety.

He and Jocelyn are ghosts that exist in the same space. It's been a year of quiet dinners and less than silent accusations; their misery magnified in the confines of their home. The only time he feels marginally human is when he's at his office and he sees the same former light in Jocelyn's eyes when she puts on a pretty dress and fake smile and attends all the social gatherings required of someone of their station. The Treadways have been instrumental in getting Jocelyn out of the house and back into social norms. He's grateful to Clay in particular for escorting his wife and providing her with company at said social events when he can't even force himself to get out of bed. He's never been more grateful for his friend's helping hand than now.

He's sure they'll turn the corner soon, has hope that they can salvage what they lost. It's the only thing he can hope for. He makes the decision to curve back his alcohol consumption; it had long lost its numbing effect anyhow. He'll be a better man for Jocelyn, be the man she fell in love with. He'll be something his daughter could be proud of.

A month into his plan the world seems a little brighter but not any less hollow. He knows he can never fill the hole Joanna left but he can't bear to destroy Jocelyn with his bitterness. He takes the afternoon off and strolls through the meadow on the way home collecting wildflowers for a bouquet. It's a small gesture, one he used to do when he was courting Jocelyn. He doesn't know how else to beg Jocelyn to allow him to put together the tattered remains of their family.

He stands in front of the house a moment, summoning his courage and fixing a smile upon his face. Perhaps if he fakes happiness it will become so familiar it will take. He throws open the door and is greeted by emptiness. A quick inspection reveals the first floor is empty but a muffled thud pulls his attention upstairs. He bounds up the stairs, flowers clutched in his hand, and opens the bedroom door calling Jocelyn's name with a joy he hasn't heard from himself in years.

He freezes instantly, her name dying in his throat. He's not even sure his heart is beating anymore which is a stark contrast to the flailing and panicked movements of Jocelyn in their bed. When the sheets finally settle Leonard gets a good look of an all too familiar face laying next to his wife hiding behind the crisp bed sheets to preserve any modesty the pair might have left.

"Leonard!" exclaims Jocelyn, fear and surprise rippling across her face.

"It's not what it seems," starts Clay looking more guilty and embarrassed than Mrs McCoy.

Leonard's been a fool about many things in his life but he knows exactly what this is. The numbness is back seeping into every one of his bones leaving him standing there. There should be anger at his wife's betrayal, heartbreak or grief but there's nothing. His heart might have literally stopped beating. His brain, which is normally sharp, is sluggish and dull. He opens his mouth to express his displeasure at walking in on such a scene but the only thing to come out of his mouth is, "Those are my boots," because it's bad enough his best friend is defiling his wife, but does he have to do it wearing the boots Joanna gave him for his birthday two years ago?

His feet are carrying him to the door before either of them can say anything. He doesn't stop until he's at the saloon asking the bartender to leave the bottle. He pours himself a glass and toasts to having no future at all.

* * *

He manages to stumble home that night but can't bring himself to go to the bed he used to share with his wife. It would be too much to sleep in the bed where his marriage went to die; it would be more like sleeping in a coffin. It doesn't matter, Jocelyn hears him come home and confronts him in the hallway. He finds it ironic that she's the one that's angry.

"He loves me, Leonard!" she shouts before he can say anything, all spitfire and rage. It's an accusation that cuts straight to his heart. It says it all, but the thing that hurts most are all the words she doesn't say. "Clay's a good man with a bright future. He can give me everything I want, everything I need. _He_ loves me."

" _I_ love you," he replies brokenly. It hurts to think that she doesn't believe that. He never realized just how much Jocelyn really was just like everyone else in their social circle. She clearly shares the same opportunistic and calculating spirit as Clay making them a perfect match. He has visions of the senate turning on Caesar, so many deadly thrusts that his death can't be pinpointed on one person. The world has given him so many daggers he doesn't know which one is responsible for finishing him off. He walks away, ignoring Jocelyn's continued rant and enters Joanna's room for the first time since she passed. He curls up in her bed, pulling the blankets, that still smell like his little angel, close and cries himself to sleep.

Morning doesn't bring absolution but it does bring clarity. There's a graveyard behind the house and he's buried all the people out there. First his father through illness, then his mother when he helped pull the trigger to end his father's suffering. Joanna rests there because he failed to save her and now Jocelyn because his grief over their daughter has left him so lost in the darkness of his soul he didn't see her finding comfort in the willing arms of others. There's no one left to bury but himself. Perhaps it would be better for everyone if he did. He wouldn't be able to hurt anyone anymore that way. The pieces of his life are so broken and scattered by the wind there's nothing to hold onto anymore.

He has business to take care of first. He goes to the bank and transfers a large sum of money into his mother's account. His next stop is with the lawyer before tracking down Clay Treadway. The maid lets him into the Treadway estate and escorts him to the office when he claims official business. He doesn't feel bad about interrupting Clay's business meeting. Before Clay can say anything he hands him a set of papers with still wet ink and says, "She's all yours," before turning and walking out.

When Leonard returns home, the house is empty. He has no idea where Jocelyn has gotten to but he imagines she's commiserating with his mother on just what a horrible human being he is. He opens a bottle of twenty year old scotch that his father gave him on his wedding day and savors it. After his first glass, he pulls out the case he's kept hidden in the back of the liqueur cabinet and opens it. The cold metal glints in the soft afternoon light; it's just as intimidating as the last time he laid eyes on it. He'd hidden it, like some dirty secret, the last connection he had to his father and the seam ripper that pulled the first thread out of his life leaving the rest of the patch work quilt of his soul in disarray. He thinks about it for a second but knows deep down he's too much of a coward to pick his father's gun up and pull the trigger for himself.

Instead he heads up stairs to pack a bag. There isn't much he wants nor needs. He packs a few pieces of clothing but leaves the boots by Jocelyn's bed. He takes the pocket watch his mother gave him before he left for school, the medical bag his father bought him when he returned, and Joanna's pink blanket. He drafts a letter for Jocelyn with his apologies for the mess he's made out of everything and goes to leave his wedding ring with it but finds he can't bear to part with it, instead he moves it over to his last finger. He leaves the key to the house on the table; Jocelyn can have it all, she was always more suited to the life of a socialite than he was. He kind of hopes she and Clay will be happy together, regardless, it isn't his concern anymore.

Leonard heads to the post office to read through the requests for doctors in the new and blossoming towns spring up out west. He picks the one with the worst reputation and the greatest distance from Atlanta and requests a telegraph be sent confirming his acceptance of the position. If the arduous journey to Federation City doesn't kill him, the roughness of the west will. Maybe some outlaw will be able to do him the favor of pulling the trigger and save him from his miserable existence.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who read this story and/or commented, you're the best.  
> Thanks to CaptainNinapants for beta reading this story.


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